


Hot For Teacher

by HigherMagic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Student Dean, Teacher Castiel, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 08:29:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/937828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigherMagic/pseuds/HigherMagic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> It was taking every amount of Castiel's, granted, very limited self-control to maintain his cool, calm exterior whenever he was teaching classes with that boy in them. A senior by the name of Dean Winchester, barely a day over eighteen, active in both the football team and the drama club, one of the highest GPA within both those parties. Eager, bright-eyed and possibly what would end Castiel's career if nothing else did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot For Teacher

Classrooms are too fucking small.

Castiel hadn't always been this way; university life had spoiled him. He'd become used to the grand arches and echoing halls and giant lecture rooms with state of the art equipment, projectors, laser pens and so on. He was used to speaking to three or four hundred students at a time, all of them there because they wanted to be there, all of them eager and willing to learn, to soak in his knowledge.

But then the recession had hit, and budget cuts had to be made. As a primarily science-oriented school, his university had cut the arts and languages sections first, and with that went most of the professors of philosophy and lore. Luckily Castiel's minor in Literature may have saved his entire career, because it happened that Lawrence, Kansas High School was looking for a literature and arts professor (one man for the entire program, and wasn't that a backbreaker and a half).

And so he'd ended up here. A high school were kids had to be there because it was the law; half of them didn't want to, the other half didn't come at all. And his biggest class was maybe two dozen, tight-packed in desks and seats and staring out of the window half the time. It was closer, much more intimate, and it was fucking trouble.

From the front of the classroom Castiel could see each and every one of them clearly; see which were paying attention and which were texting under their desks or drawing on their arms or trying to pass notes to each other. He could see, very easily, whenever the boy who sat in the very front, closest to the far wall where the windows were, flashed him a flirty smile, fluttered his lashes, sprawled in his seat with his legs splayed wide.

It was taking every amount of Castiel's, granted, very limited self-control to maintain his cool, calm exterior whenever he was teaching classes with that boy in them. A senior by the name of Dean Winchester, barely a day over eighteen, active in both the football team and the drama club, one of the highest GPA within both those parties. Eager, bright-eyed and possibly what would end Castiel's career if nothing else did.

Dean was gorgeous, and he knew it, wearing shirts that were just a shade too tight, his hair bleached light brown from the sun, his skin a warm golden color, eyes so vivid that it seemed like they were glowing, sometimes. Whenever Castiel found his eyes straying that way (and they did often), his lips were often at work, either chewing on the end of his pen, or his teeth were sinking into them, making them bitten-red and flushed. Always smiling, like he knew exactly what he was doing, fingers curling restlessly, body arching, legs spread and inviting Castiel closer.

He was like a poisonous flower, Castiel a hapless insect, waiting to be sucked in.

"Mister Novak?"

Castiel closed his eyes, taking a deep breath at the oh-so-familiar voice. He'd listened to Dean giving him answers to his questions, arguing his points when they'd discussed books and plays, committed each word and syllable Dean had ever said to play them back to himself when he was alone in his bed at night. Made him feel like a dirty old man, stroking himself to the thought of that boy on his knees, or bent over his desk, or whichever of the thousand ways Castiel had pictured taking him.

He let out his breath, and forced a smile to his face, opening his eyes again and raising them to see Dean standing in the doorway. "Yes, Mister Winchester. What can I help you with?"

Dean flushed a little, looking down and biting his lower lip, stepping into Castiel's classroom and shutting the door behind them. It was later, after school hours and Dean must have just finished with football or whatever club it was that he participated in tonight – sometimes Castiel wondered how much the boy must actually sleep, being so busy. Castiel raised an eyebrow when Dean closed the door, but the boy didn't say anything and so neither did he.

He sat back in his chair, tapping his pen against his desk on either side of his fingers as he watched Dean stand, fidgeting awkwardly by the door, eyes down to the ground.

Finally, after a moment, he rolled his eyes. "You can cut that crap, Mister Winchester," he said, not harshly but with no room for argument either. "We both know you're a good actor, and a good actor should know the advantage of subtlety."

Dean's eyes flashed to him, and the shy, awkward smile melted into something amused, sharp – predatory. His eyes gleamed. "Am I really that bad at hiding?" he asked, straightening his shoulders and walking over to stand next to Castiel's desk. The man watched him, admired the damp darkness of his shower-fresh hair, the scent of shampoo and body wash rolling off his clean body, the way his t-shirt clung just a little too tightly because of it.

Castiel shook his head, but didn't say anything in reply to that.

Dean's smirk grew. "Well, Mister Novak," he murmured, spreading his arms out to either side of him. "Here I am."

"Yes," Castiel replied softly, pushing himself slowly to his feet. "Here you are." It was then that he let himself look at Dean – really look at him, at the flexing in his throat when he swallowed, the curve of his bowlegs in his jeans, the way his fingers flexed and curled with restraint. "And now that you are here, what am I to do with you?"

He was like he was shaking; he was so close – _so close_. Dean's heat, his body, was magnetic, pulling Castiel in, and though the boy was still a little shorter, Castiel knew he would catch up, probably overtake in no time at all. He circled Dean, a pleased smile coming to his face when Dean's eyes did drop down, again, shoulders tensing just a little in anticipation of a touch, a bite. And Castiel let his fingers graze the jut of Dean's hipbone, nails digging in through the shirt, just to hear Dean's soft hitch of breath.

"I'm sure, sure you have some ideas," Dean whispered, voice shaky now, unsteady. Castiel could see the fine tremor of his body, heat flaring up in him to realize he had this boy _shaking_ with need. Already.

He cocked his head to one side, and took a strong grip of Dean's shoulder, spinning the boy around and then placed a hand against his chest, shoving him back to sit on the desk. "You aren't wrong," he growled, fingers twisting into Dean's thin shirt and pulling him up, close to Castiel's body so that Dean was thrown off balance, relying on both his arm braced against the desk and Castiel's own body weight to keep him upright.

Dean sucked in a breath, eyes darting between Castiel's and the man's lips, before he licked his own, drawing Castiel's attention to them. He'd thought about them for so long, warm, soft, giving under his, or stretched tight around his cock, or around a gag. He'd imagined Dean to be a screamer, loud and uninhibited, would have to keep him quiet to avoid them getting caught.

 _God_ , his body throbbed with the need to get closer, to get inside of this foolish, arrogant, _gorgeous_ boy who openly flirted with the teacher and thought Iago was a sympathetic character and dared to come into his office after hours to tempt Castiel more.

He leaned down, slowly, eyes dropping from Dean's to admire the boy's mouth, the line of his jaw, the slope of his neck, before he gently pressed his lips against the soft skin of the boy's throat. This way, he could feel Dean swallow, feel the soft, shaky exhale, and step between Dean's legs when they were so easily spread.

Dean's hands came up, either side of him, fingers clutching weakly at the material of his business shirt, stretched tight across his back from Dean pulling on it, thighs rising, grip strong and warm and caging Castiel's hips in.

"Please." It was soft, whispered dirtily in the non-space between their bodies, pressed against Castiel's neck, and the older man closed his eyes, breathed in deeply the scent of Dean's shower gel and the light scent of water and grass underneath, traces of the football field lingering behind, and he shivered, and broke. Broke like a dam, flooding out, powerful and all-consuming.

Their first kiss was harsh, demanding in a way Castiel has never been even with his past lovers; desperate and needing like this kiss might very well be his last, be the best thing he's never going to get again. Dean's lips were soft and yielding, pushed out and open to allow room for Castiel's own, tongue sliding inside to claim and to taste.

Dean was so _warm_ , open and inviting and so fucking gorgeous it was all Castiel could do to keep going, keep ignoring the thoughts screaming in the back of his mind that this was wrong, this kid was his _student_ , even if he was legal, and Castiel stifled those traitorous thoughts out, because Dean was here, _his_.

 _His_.

"We do this," he growled, pulling back long enough to yank Dean off the edge of his desk, to his feet, tearing at the boy's shirt like he has a vengeance against anything hiding Dean's skin away from him, nails digging in too sharp and leaving scratches behind, "there's no going back, Winchester. I'm not losing my job over some fucked-up hots you have for teacher."

Dean swallowed, wide-eyed, and nodded, licking his lips, able to taste Castiel's kiss left behind on them. "Understood," he replied, reaching forward, grabbing Castiel and pulling him back in by his tie, knotted tight around his waist. "So come on, Professor."

"God damn it," Castiel snarled, turning his attention to Dean's jeans – damned things were the only things standing in the way of Castiel and where he most wanted to be, buried deep inside of Dean, fucking the boy until he screamed, _yes_ , fuck, he couldn't fucking wait. "Turn around, boy."

He could feel the shiver than ran through Dean's body against his palms, as the teenager ducked his eyes submissively, victory written into the slant of his mouth, and obeyed, bracing himself right up against the desk and baring himself to Castiel's hungry gaze. It was all the invitation Castiel needed, as he stepped up, rutting his clothed cock against Dean's ass, only sparing enough time not touching the boy to yank open his jean button and zipper and yank the damn clothing away.

Dean wasn't wearing any underwear.

That wasn't the only surprise, either.

" _Fuck_ ," Castiel whispered, the word almost turning into a snarl, as he leaned back, enough to see the shiny, unmistakable slick of lube between Dean's cheeks, and he spread the boy open, sliding his thumb along Dean's hole, found it open and giving readily to the press of his finger. "You fucking _whore_." This time the word was a snarl, something dark and damning coming from the pit of Castiel's stomach, and his other hand was freeing his hard cock from his pants before he could think about it. "When did you do this?"

At Dean's silence, Castiel paused, and brought his hand down, sharply, on the teen's thigh, earning a jolt and a low hiss, fingers clenching in the edges of Castiel's desk. "I asked you a question, Mister Winchester."

"In the…" Dean's breathing was heavy, the words gasped-out, muffled against the desk. "In the shower. J-Jerked myself off to the thought of you fucking me."

The sound Castiel let out at that, he wasn't completely sure was entirely human. The idea of this _boy_ – this gorgeous, flirty, brilliant _boy_ , would even think about shit like that, shove fingers up his ass and whisper Castiel's name into the cold tiles of the shower-room walls, clench his eyes tight and imagine Castiel fucking him, gripping his hips and biting the back of his neck and fucking him into oblivion, was too much. Too much to process.

He spat onto his hand, slicking up his cock. It wasn't a lot, but if Dean had done a good enough job, it would be enough. If not, well, boys had to learn there were consequences to their actions.

"You're such a fucking slut, Winchester," Castiel snarled, reaching forward to knot his hands in Dean's hair, pulling the boy back at such an angle that it was hard to breath, it cricked his neck and forced his spine to arch, his hips to rise and tilt back at the perfect angle that Castiel's cock, already resting at Dean's hole, sank inside. _Fuck_ , he was even warmer on the inside, clenching down around the intrusion, unexpected, sudden. "Couldn't even wait to ask me nicely, just had to flaunt yourself until I snapped, didn't you?"

Dean's eyes were clenched tightly shut, his cheeks flushed with arousal and shame, hands bracing forward, palms slippery-wet against the table.

He didn't answer, but Castiel didn't need him to – he leaned over Dean, letting his cock slide deeper into the teen's welcoming, hot body, bared his teeth against the side of Dean's throat. "That's alright, sweetheart," he whispered, dirty and rough, free hand digging tightly into Dean's flank. "But you only needed to ask."

He let Dean's head go, then, fucking into Dean in earnest until he could go no farther, pulling out and slamming back in hard enough that the desk screeched, scraping across the floor before Dean scrambled for purchase and braced his legs to stop it moving any more. The teen moaned, loudly, when Castiel began to fuck him – high and breathy whines punctuated with soft, bitten-back groans as he clearly tried to keep himself quiet. Castiel didn't care; he braced his hand on the back of Dean's neck and kept going, slamming into Dean hard enough that he would be sure the teen would feel him for a week, at least, if not more. He wanted Dean to feel him for the rest of his Goddamn life.

The tight, hot, slick clench of Dean's body made him feel like he was losing his Goddamn mind – Castiel blew out a heavy breath, fire licking up and down his spine in a hot caress, urging him onward, forward, to bite down on Dean's neck and tear up his back and chest and fill him up as many time as he wanted, just to have it leak back out of Dean, but the rational part of him knew Dean was half-naked for a lot of people and if the wrong guys saw the marks there would be questions.

Unbidden, something dark and possessive flared up in him at that – that other people would see Dean, naked. Might lust after him or touch him or bend him over like Castiel was doing; had him baring his teeth against Dean's neck, gripping his hips tight and fucking in like he was sprinting the final stretch of a marathon. The wet sound of skin slapping together was the only sound to accompany their harsh, heavy breathing.

"Please." Again, whispered so quietly, so desperately that it was a wonder Castiel heard it at all, and he tilted his head, pressed a kiss to the back of Dean's neck, and reached around to find the teen's hard cock, throbbing and burning hot under his touch. Dean visibly jolted at the touch, his entire body going tense, shaking hard.

"Gonna come, Dean?" Castiel whispered, growled against the sweaty tan line on Dean's neck. "Gonna come, bent over this desk, getting fucked by your teacher? Knowing that from now on whenever you're in the classroom all you'll be able to think about is how I fucked you to within an inch of your life, until you screamed?" Dean moaned out, low, long, a broken sound that sounded like a 'Yes'. "Then come, Dean, like the slut you are on my cock. Do it. Now."

It took a few more tries – Dean wasn't hard-wired to come on command alone. Yet. But soon enough Castiel felt the satisfying spasm of Dean's muscles unbearably tight around him, Dean biting down on his own forearm to muffle the sounds as his cock twitched and spilled onto the desk side in front of him, undoubtedly leaving a stain behind. "There we go," Castiel hissed, victorious and high off of knowing Dean had wanted this, wanted _him,_ that he could make this boy so desperate and needy for his cock – it was one of the best fucking feelings in the world.

It thrust into Dean's spent body well after the boy was done with his orgasm, wringing tired moans and stifled whines from Dean as the boy went tense, tired and sore, and he pulled out, stroking himself through the last and spilling onto Dean's sore ass and thighs – he wanted Dean to be _wrecked,_ ruined, _reeking_ of him until he managed to get home. That dark and possessive part of him was flaring up huge today.

When he was finished, he tucked himself back in and left Dean there, still panting on his desk, shaking legs barely holding him up. He didn't touch Dean, or try and help him up, but merely stood next to the desk, arms folded, waiting for Dean to put two brain cells together and push himself to his feet, clumsy fingers fumbling to redress himself.

"Mister Winchester," Castiel called, when Dean was looking as presentable as he could under the circumstances, and was headed to the door without another word. "The paper comparing the Hero Complex is still due on Monday. Do not think that this changes anything."

He didn't need to look at Dean to see the boy's sly smirk, his victorious smile. "Wouldn't dream of it…Cas," he replied, making Castiel's mouth twist, but then Dean was out the door and away before Castiel could correct him. Though, come to think of it, 'Cas' didn't sound too bad. At least coming from Dean.

"Fuck," he thought to himself. He was gonna get so fired.

  
  



End file.
